


The Honey (Trap) - 12 September 2017

by Xuxunette



Series: The Honey (Trap) [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Severus Snape, Canon Compliant, Deepthroating, Eventual BDSM, Eventual Happy Ending, Implied Others/Severus Snape, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, References to Drugs, Top Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:15:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29433735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xuxunette/pseuds/Xuxunette
Summary: A series of one shots from Severus' life as a spy adept at sexpionnage.Severus is caught caught dealing drugs.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Series: The Honey (Trap) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149902
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49





	The Honey (Trap) - 12 September 2017

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in the habit of writing the end of a story at the same time as its beginning.  
> This is the first installment of the conclusion to the series. It has some plot developments in future installment, but can be read as a one-shot. 
> 
> Severus has survived the war and (just to give up the plot away), lives under aliases, and has PTSD from his life as a spy. He meets Harry again, who ask for his help with something.
> 
> Not beta-read.

_12 September 2017_

“I don’t know how you managed it, you’re really not much to look at,” said Potter, the one person in the entire universe who had seen all of his memories from his life as a spy, until the moment of Nagini’s bite, and who had released only a highly edited and demure digest of them to the rest of the world. 

Severus drew aside his arm that covered his eyes, protecting him from the glare of the overhead light panels (100% revamped Azkaban certified free of dementors and fire hazard torchlights, courtesy of the New Era’s MLE circa 2000 anno domini), and confirmed that The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Defeat-Voldemort-And-Who-By-Now-Had-A-Head-The-Size-Of-A-Montgolfier-From-All-The-Adoration had entered his cell.

Yes, it was him, disfigured forehead and all.

Severus didn’t bother trying for modesty. He stretched from head to toes, loosening muscles cranked from a night spent on the hard bench. And, as naked as he had been when he was thrown into the holding cell after having refused the prisoners’ garb in protest of his detention, he sat up to greet his visitor.

“Doesn’t stop you from looking at it,” said Severus as he held Potter’s gaze that was the colour of the killing curse.

If giving Potter way too much insight into his sordid career was a gross oversight committed at a juncture when he was bleeding to death with his airways punctured, and next to no oxygen irrigating his brain to do complicated triage of his memoirs, there was no point in regretting it now. What was done was done.

Potter looked unabashed by his retort and leant against the whitewashed wall.

“No, really,” carried on Potter, “how did you do it? Seduce and trick so many of them? You’re not exactly a fashion model.”

“Thinking about taking up spying, Potter? Heading Britain’s Magical Law Enforcement’s not paying the bills?” replied Severus.

“Something like that. Professional interest, I guess,” answered Potter, unperturbed.

Severus tried intimidating the younger man into dropping the subject with a glare, but it had no effect. Whether because Potter was no longer a teenage student, or because he could walk away anytime, leaving Severus at the mercy of the Wizengamot. 

“Occlumency, Potter. As you very well know,” responded he after a while. “But I suppose you can’t appreciate an art you were never able to master yourself. Despite my best efforts,” he added, with more contempt than he had a heart for.

“I’m not sixteen anymore, Severus,” replied Potter, in as blunt a tone as he had used when he had made his entrance. ”Occlumency doesn’t get people to spill their guts over pillow talk. Nor does it get people on the pillow in the first place.” 

Irritated for reasons he did not care to examine, Severus tried glowering again with no better result. The green-eyed wizard simply stood, back against the wall and hands in his pockets, with a detached expression on his face as he looked at Severus in the eyes. 

The staring contest didn’t last long. Having had enough of the mind game, and frankly tired after his brief night of uncomfortable sleep, Severus looked away first.

“I never said no,” said he, quietly.

Silence stretched barren before the reply came. 

“You never said no,” echoed Potter, his voice a whisper that resonated strangely in the stark cell.

He was released one hour after Potter’s visit. His belongings were returned to him in a neat pile without comments by the balding warden, before he was led to a chamber equipped with an enormous fireplace and left alone inside it. He didn’t hesitate in grabbing the handful of floo powder that took him to Borgin and Burkes, from where he apparated home — leaving the Wizengamot none the wiser as to whom they had detained for a night on the grounds of traffic of prohibited substances, since he had declined to disclose his identity upon arrest.

The mug of tea in his hand had cooled. He absentmindedly flicked his wand to warm it again, and continued to stare sightlessly at the sun setting over the rows of charmless, modern architecture overlooked by the balcony of his Liverpool studio. The streets below were littered with broken beer bottles and other debris after the last match in the nearby stadium; Severus wondered at the lingering glance over his body that Potter had given him before exiting the cell. 

It was completely dark when he slid close the full-length window behind him.

He found the envelope the next day, in the breast-pocket of his topcoat as he was preparing to head for the launderette. It contained a plain rectangular card that only bore a familiar address written in black ink. 

No purpose, no time, no name — though he didn’t need the latter as he was no less familiar with the messy scribble that tightly looped its a’s.

The envelope into which he had replaced the card sat untouched on the counter of his open kitchen for two days. If pressed for an answer, Severus supposed he’d have said that he went out of curiosity. The truth was far simpler: he didn’t know why, on the third day, he apparated to the small, seedy square that faced the four-storey visible only to magical folks in south London.

The front door to 12 Grimmauld Place opened as his foot touched the last step of the short flight of stairs leading up to it. 

No phantom in the semblance of Albus Dumbledore greeted him. In fact, the building was deserted. 

After the full tour of the Blacks ancestral home — it had been emptied of its antique heirlooms and the remaining pieces of furniture were covered with white sheets — Severus elected the drawing room on the first floor. The fabric protecting the sofa was free of dust, showing that at least some maintenance was being upheld; he revealed a green leather Chesterfield, seated himself, and waited.

Minutes, maybe hours, trickled by and Severus had time to rethink his presence a thousand times. Yet, he remained seated. 

He was thinking about leaving for the thousand-and-eight time when a ring sounded from downstairs.

His pocket watch pointed to 8:00 p.m.

He opened the front door to the sight of a delivery boy wearing a maroon cap who handed him a paper bag, another plain white envelope, and didn’t wait for a signature. 

Back in the drawing room, he unsealed the bag and found food (some kind of fancy catering served in hard plastic boxes and frilly paper napkins), a bottle of sparkling water, and another of white wine.

Severus fished out the water and a plastic cup, abandoned the rest on a nearby surface, and returned to the sofa with the envelope in hand. 

After a glass of San Pellegrino — nothing suspect — and having tested the slightly bulging envelope for curses (none appeared) he scratched the latter open with his fingernail, and something soft and glinting fell from it into his lap. 

He illuminated the lamps within the room with his wand, and held up a looping ribbon made of black silk, with a single, plain golden hook attached to it. For a moment, he stroked the delicate length of fabric between his index finger and thumb, before he set the choker necklace down on the cushion beside him.

So Potter’s intentions were sexual.

On one hand, Severus couldn’t say that he wasn’t surprised. Potter was still young, reasonably attractive, and as famous as Merlin himself. He’d have his pick of fawning adulators who’d go horizontal if he so much as looked in their directions. Groupies who’d be younger and — how did Potter put it? — more to look at than Severus himself.

On the other hand, Severus couldn’t say that he was surprised. From experience, he knew that few men who discovered his inclinations resisted using him that way. Whether as a passing, tentative fancy or as a lasting dirty secret. 

Powerful men and men in the public’s eye in particular (and Potter was both), caged as they commonly were by the trappings of upstanding citizenship, had found the promise of absolute discretion, combined with that of absolute depravity, a heady mixture that had made a non negligible contribution to his trade. 

Perhaps was there trouble in the Potter-Weasley paradise.

But then, the lightning bolt marked wizard who had ended the Dark Lord’s reign knew perfectly well that he had betrayed every single of the people he had bedded. Whether while working for the Dark Lord, or Albus. And as much as he thought little of Potter’s intellectual abilities, he had to admit that even Potter couldn’t be so stupid as to trust his disposition for integrity — or complete lack thereof. Especially after having seen so many of his memories.

Which, by process of elimination, put Potter in the second category of people who’d find him of interest. The second, even less savoury, category comprising characters who’d take the risk knowingly: because their penchants were so perverted, they couldn’t find anyone else.

Severus shivered, recalling the way the younger man had mouthed “you never said no” back in the Azkaban’s cell. 

Yes, he had an intimate knowledge of the power not saying no offered. 

Too intimate a knowledge.

And really, he had no practical reason to humour Potter. The name of Severus Snape carried a far better reputation as that of a dead war hero’s than it had ever been associated with when he still used it. Leaving that page of his life turned was a choice, as he appreciated the tranquillity being officially dead provided. His arrest was only a blunder motivated by easy money, and Potter, who had shown no surprise upon finding him alive, couldn’t very well prosecute him for surviving. In particular, after having had let him walk straight out of Azkaban scot free. If he truly needed to, and in case Potter had decided to pick a bone with him after all those years, he could always leave magic behind and blend in with the remaining 99% of humanity. 

He was also nearing sixty.

Still, he didn’t leave.

His pocket watch pointed to 9:30 when he heard the commotion downstairs. 

Not a minute later Potter, wearing muggle clothes, was standing in the drawing's doorway room.

“You haven’t had dinner,” greeted the bespectacled wizard, as he glanced at the untouched bag of food.

Severus took a sip of sparkling water. If Potter wanted to wine and dine him, he’d have to do better than take out. His standards had improved since being officially deceased. 

He peered over the rim of his plastic cup as Potter unzipped his windcheater, shrugged it off, tossed it onto a nearby surface, and came to plunk himself down at the other end of the chesterfield — all the time while avoiding to look at the silk choker plainly displayed on the leather cushion in between them.

“That was one hell of a stunt you pulled. Resisting arrest by hexing four Aurors and parading buck naked in Azkaban,” Potter continued conversationally, “I had to obliviate sixteen people on my staff to get you out.”

Ah, calling in debt. Not an unusual opener before requests for sexual favours. Severus wasn’t going to dignify that with an answer. It had been a bad hair day, is all.

As Severus still didn’t respond, Potter barged on, “I thought you liked your quiet, so I put the report at the bottom of the pile when contraband Wolfsbane turned up in Knockturn Alley a few years ago. But maybe I was mistaken? I could arrange for your status to be restored if you’d like. That way, you could run a proper business instead of selling drugs. By the way, _meth_ ? Come on. Muggle drugs don't affect us the same, and wizarding laws are antiquated, but that’s getting a bit too close to serious, don't you think? I can keep setting your record straight on the down-low too; no scrutiny from the Magical Council. So anytime you want it done, just say the word. —”

Dangling the carrot. Where was the stick?

“ — It’d get you your Spinner’s End house back as well. That’d be better than you moving from one muggle house to the next, I think. Your movements are monitored, by the way. As an unidentified muggle drugs dealer, since last year’s amphetamine. ”

There.

"

His moralizing tirade finished, Potter looked expectantly at Severus.

Severus took another sip of water before he spoke.

“Potter, what makes you think you can threaten me? Out of curiosity,” asked he, as conversationally as the wizard facing him.

Potter smiled. It was an irritating smile.

“I’m not,” answered the green-eyed wizard, “Just filling you in. Though it’d make it easier on me if you gave up putting your considerable talents into flooding the black market with designer drugs. I can’t put everything on the back burner forever.”

Flattery. Was that Potter’s idea of flirtation?

“I have no interest in resuscitating Severus Snape,” stated he.

Potter chuckled. “That’s what I thought,” he said casually. And then, while making a circular gesture with a raised index, he added, “This place’s yours if you want it.”

Preposterous. And carrot, again. The idiot probably thought the deal was sweet too. 

“So, you think you can buy me? Again, out of curiosity,” asked Severus.

“No!” was Potter’s swift protest.

Suddenly serious, the green-eyed wizard said solemnly, “No. It’s a gift. A thank you gift. For all you have done. For saving us all.” He paused, before cocking his head to the side and asking with eyes wide in concern, “How have you been?”

Severus was seized with an urge to slap the man in front of him. 

“I don’t need your pity, Potter,” said he, more curtly than he would have liked. He was showing emotions. That wouldn’t do.

“It’s not. Pity, I mean.” replied Potter, “I don’t really use the place anymore. I want you to have it. You deserve it.” Spoken with self-righteous sincerity.

Severus was moving closer to murderous. 

Instead of strangling Potter, he picked up the silk choker obviously sitting between them, and dangled it from his index finger whilst pointing at Potter. 

“Explain this, then” demanded Severus as he looked directly into green eyes.

Potter bit his bottom lips as his gaze slid to the golden hook hanging from the strip of fabric, but he didn’t show further signs of embarrassment. 

When he spoke again, he did so carefully. “The house is yours, whether or not you accept my proposition,” he answered while returning his gaze to Severus. “And anything I can do, I’d be glad to. No repayment needed,” he added. “It’s just that... I’d like your help with something. If you’re willing, that is.”

Severus almost snorted. _Help_. What an euphemism. Unless Potter was truly clueless? But no, even Potter couldn’t be so incompetent as to not understand what a collar meant. Not after having seen his memories. He was simply better at the game than Severus had thought. All very well done. The gifts, the concern, the eagerness to help, and the slight hesitation upon setting the price. But Severus was better still. He had no idea what Potter’s motivations were, but he’d find out. Hadn’t Potter said something about professional interest? Maybe it was some twisted, Gryffindor idea of putting himself to the test. To see if he could check-mate the spy who had tricked the Dark Lord. A sort of challenge: trying on Severus for size, to verify whether he could best Tom Riddle where the latter had failed? 

Well, Severus was game.

To make sure they understood each other, Severus dropped the choker onto the sofa. And, still holding Potter’s gaze, he dragged his hair out of the way before undoing the first button of his jacket.

Potter didn’t budge and didn’t look away. 

Black buttons became unfastened one after the other under green eyes.

Jacket, shirt, boots, socks, trousers and pants went; Potter still immobile.

When Severus had bared himself, he picked up the choker again, tossed it to the man looking at him, and stuck out his neck.

Cars passed by outside, casting moving lights into the room through the sheer curtains; the sound of their respiration filled the silence.

Potter moved at last, and Severus thought he’d chicken out for sure as the hesitation was evident on the younger man’s face. But he didn’t.

As if in slow motion, Potter collected the silk collar with one hand and inched closer on the sofa. He the lifted his other hand. 

To graze the side of Severus’ neck. 

Where skin and everything underneath had been torn so deeply, Fawkes’ tears hadn’t healed completely. And where time and an array of potions still left rosy ridges, lighter bumps, and darker welts.

Severus’ eyes watered from the effort to keep them open as he was stroked there.

And then Potter’s mouth was on his, out of nowhere.

Severus’ mind blanked as hot, soft, demanding lips pressed against his own. 

It took hearing his own moan for him to reclaim control.

He was ready when Potter pushed inside his mouth.

Severus opened up and sucked obediently on Potter’s questing tongue, and Potter moaned in turn, the long drawn noise vibrating in both their mouths.

The hand at his neck left to grasp the back of his head, fingers slinking into his hair; another hand sneaked around his waist to draw him closer as Potter devoured him.

The taste of Potter’s saliva was as heady as moonshine.

Severus remembered the need for breath when Potter’s mouth left his and attached itself to his neck. Hands roamed all over his bare skin as his scarred neck was licked, suckled, kissed — every warm and soft touch setting him a-dither.

He’d been hard since he had undressed for Potter, and he thought he may come right there, just from that.

With an effort equal to resisting the Imperiatus, Severus detached Potter from his neck.

He had to look away when their gaze met; the green-eyed wizard was breathing as heavily as he was, the pupils of his eyes dilated behind glasses askance, cheeks flushed and red lips parted. 

Potter drew in to capture Severus’ mouth again, their breaths mingling close, but Severus pressed a hand against Potter’s chest, feeling the muscles beneath knitted wool, and pushed.

Until Potter was lying back on the sofa, one foot on the floor. 

Severus drew up, crouched over, adjusted the round rimmed glasses on Potter’s face, watched him watch his already leaking erection that swayed between his thighs as he sat back on his heel between Potter’s parted legs and undid Potter’s belt. Potter was hard too, bulging under the rough fabric of jeans.

Severus heard the younger man’s breath catch as he freed his straining erection from the confine of clothes, teasing out ballsacks to rest snuggly over the elastic band of boxers short. 

Potter’s shaft was hot and heavy in his hand, and Potter thrust up into Severus’ encircling fingers, biting his lips to muffle a groan.

Severus knelt on the chesterfield, shuffling backward until his face hovered above Potter’s crotch. He held the green, near black gaze as he lowered his head and took in Potter’s cock. 

Potter keened.

Severus mouth-fucked his throatful like the way knew how. 

He lost himself in the sounds of Potter's deep moans as he slobbered and slurped; Potter’s attention was undivided every time he looked up with watering eyes, which made heat pool in his belly, behind his balls, inside his arsehole. The hips beneath his hands quaked with restrained thrusts, and Severus’ ass clenched in tempo with each nudge of Potter’s girth that felt larger the further it went in.

A hand hovered at his nape, half-caress, half-possession, and Severus made Potter grip him by humming as he palmed taut balls.

Slurp, hum, choke, slurp, etc.

He could have done it forever, prideful at the noise he wrenched from Potter every time he choked on cock. 

At the same time as he felt Potter’s ballsacks draw up, Potter tugged hard at his hair to get him off of him.

Severus went down deeper, the tip of his tongue touching drool-bathed balls, and Potter yelped, his lava-like come shooting straight down Severus’ throat in long, thick spurts; the hand at the back of Severus’ head clutching tightly and holding Severus in place.

Severus gobbled everything down, sucking for more; keeping hot flesh inside his mouth as it deflated for as long as he could. 

When Potter’s cock slipped out of his mouth, he kept lapping at it like a dog, tonguing Potter’s balls to clean everything up.

He was still at it when Potter lifted up, just enough so that two strong hands could seize him by the shoulders and half-drag, half-lift him upward, until he was in the crook of Potter’s arm; Severus’ nipples scratching against the woollen jumper that covered a muscled chest.

Potter, who had discarded his glasses at some point, looked into his eyes as he panted with his mouth ajar.

The green-eyed man dragged clinging hair away from Severus’ sweaty face, wiped Severus’ saliva glazed chin with the hem of his rugged sleeve, traced his thumb against Severus’ tumescent lips, moved in to teeth them making Severus moan; before covering Severus’ mouth with his own again, fucking it with his tongue as he just had with his cock, pushing deeper and deeper, chasing trace of his own come with twirls and swirls, and swipes; eating Severus’ well-fucked mouth. 

Severus’ prick and balls were burning up. He rubbed himself against the coarse fabric of jeans and Potter’s hand grabbed his arse cheek to press him in closer. The cold, metallic edges of Potter’s belt buckle and front fly’s buttons bit into his glans as he humped Potter’s leg, making him whine into Potter’s mouth.

The hand on his ass left at the same time as Potter detached his mouth.

His scarred neck was licked again while a clammy hand slid between them to close around his cock, and Severus came whimpering.

Potter held him through his orgasm, peppering kisses on his face and neck as he kept milking him, rough and messy, and Severus couldn’t stop coming. 

When he was finally done spilling himself, Potter just held him in the crook of his arm.

It was and soft enough and Severus couldn’t have said if he passed out or dozed off.

When he re-opened his eyes, his head was pillowed on a Potter’s shoulder, and green eyes were watching him. Potter’s hand came up to his face and his cheek was stroked with light fingers.

“You’re hot. Really hot,” said Potter with a ridiculous, dazed expression on his face.

A juvenile compliment, absurd coming from a man who was nearing forty. More absurd since the recipient was nearing sixty and had been deemed “not exactly a fashion model” not so long ago.

Severus felt himself lean into Potter’s caressing touch instead of biting back with a scathing retort. The last time he had sex was a macabre affair with a power tripping Dark Lord and Potter’s body against his own was comfortable as he chased his afterglow. 

Fingers were at his lips, tracing them again, and Severus lazily licked at them; tasting traces of his own come as he heard Potter’s breath sharpen. He could feel Potter’s prick against his hips: it was half-hard already, but he was too spent, too jellified to do anything about it.

Potter didn’t seem to mind and just kept petting him, moving in to steal a kiss from time to time. And Severus was content to just lay there, and pretend for a while. 

But then, Potter spoke again.

“You liked it.” A pause. “Some of it,” amended Potter, as a strand of hair was curled behind his ear.

It took a moment before Severus understood that Potter was talking about the memories he had given him.

The words cut in a way they shouldn’t have.

Severus slowly disentangled himself. He looked down at Potter’s face as he straddled him. 

It did look innocent, the face. A broad forehead adorned by the celebrated lightning bolt, a fine zig-zag of raised maroon flesh with edges so clean it looked painted on; goldilocks lips that were neither too thin nor too full, puffy from kissing; a straight nose still perfectly straight courtesy of magical repair; greying temples conferring the illusion of maturity and an honest seeming square jaw; deep smile lines and faint crow feet that spoke of parenthood and a desk job; dense, waxy black eyebrows, cut through in the middle by a colourless scar on the left one, that hinted at a love of quidditch and a tumultuous youth; no baby fat left but skin clear and still plump with a slight September tan; thick and short lashes framing a bottle green stare possessing a puppyish quality imparted by shortsightedness.

Severus sucked two of his own fingers inside his mouth, coating them in spit, and reached around to insert them into his arsehole, the entire time making sure his movements were slow, so that Potter’s myopia wouldn’t miss a thing.

When his hole was wetted, he brought his hand back round, and spat in it, before grappling Potter’s half-hard prick that was nested beneath his arsecheeks and balls.

Lifting up, he forced Potter’s cockhead inside his hole, guiding the not yet fully erect shaft by sticking in his own fingers alongside it. And when everything was in, he held his middle finger pressed against Potter’s swelling cock to keep it in place as he gyrated his hips.

Potter’s cock lengthened and thickened within him, the sensation making Severus shiver — not exactly comfortable after such a long time — until he was so full his own finger pinched painfully at his rim and he had to take it out. 

The burn and pressure in his ass intensified as Potter’s cock continued to grow larger. Potter felt it too.

The younger man was emitting a whining sound, his bottom lips caught under his front teeth. He still grasped Severus’ waist with both hands to keep himself sheathed.

Potter attempted to keep it easy, humping shallowly with a kind of swaying of his hips that stirred Severus’ guts, making it feel very good indeed; but Potter’s sizable cock was now hard enough, and Severus lifted all the way up — until only Potter’s cockhead stretched his hole — and impaled himself all the way down, the motions ripping cries from both of them. 

Severus’ legs trembled from being split open, and Potter’s hands slid to Severus’ hips, his fingernails digging into Severus flesh as he moaned. Potter’s prick grew rock hard and widened some more.

Severus fucked himself like that on the not slick enough shaft for a long time. All the way up, all the way down, a pause in between to make them both feel it; burning friction on each move, incredible fullness on every halt; their grunts and groans echoing in the lofty drawing room. 

Severus arsehole was on fire, and his spent prick dribbled pitifully as it strained to get hard again. Potter’s green eyes were half-lidded, drinking in the sight of Severus taking cock, making Severus fuck himself harder.

Fingers rose to his chest and pinched his left nipple, and Severus’ whole body spasmed; ejaculation ripped from his still soft prick. He trembled and wailed, the clenching of his anal muscles making Potter’s cock feel even bigger, its pressure against his prostate milking out more jizz from his balls that were so strung up it hurt, and the fretful jerking of Potter’s hips that bumped the shaft inside him pushing out still more.

When the quivering in his arsehole calmed, and as his cock gave up trying to shoot air, Severus collapsed, boneless, atop Potter.

“Oh, god,” moaned the younger man, before he captured his mouth with his own and started fucking him in earnest.

Potter’s hands on his hips kept him in place as he was repeatedly rammed full of fat cock. Hard and fast, like being humped by a rabbit with a penis the size of an eggplant. 

The ferocious fucking jolted his upper body back and forth against Potter’s front. Potter’s clothes scraped his bare, over-sensitised skin, as his limp cock trapped between their body was painfully squeezed; each shove that speared into him spreading him wide open and pushing him forward, wrenching a whimpering cry from him that was greedily swallowed by Potter’s mouth.

When Potter came, Potter’s own shout coiled around Severus’ tongue as the younger man’s hot seed churned his guts.

Potter was quaking all over, his cock erratically jumping inside Severus’ decimated fuckhole. He pushed Severus’ hips downward and tried to cram himself in even deeper, wrenching away his mouth from Severus’ lips, to bite down into the scarred flesh of Severus’ neck. 

Severus thought he had another, entirely dry orgasm from that, although he couldn’t be sure as he felt utterly pulverized from the waist down.

That time he knew he dozed off.

Potter was cleaning both of them with a wet towel, surely summoned by magic, when Severus came back to the mortal realm.

He was still comfortably nested atop Potter, his face in the cranny of Potter’s neck, and he didn’t want to move; the careful wiping of his backside putting him in mind of Potter dealing with nappies.

The towel was discarded, and Potter’s hand trailed his back.

Severus stayed where he was, dozing on and off, his whole body still tingly and warm and his arsehole aching pleasantly. But Potter babbled again.

“I’ll have to go soon. Wasn’t supposed to stay that long,” Potter whispered against his ear.

Severus breathed in Potter’s cologne — a low-key mix of oakmoss and bergamot with a masculine edge of musk — and made to move.

Potter’s arms clasped him below his shoulders and around his waist to keep him close.

“I can stay a bit longer. Just can’t be the night.”

Curiosity about the exact state of Potter’s marriage rose to the surface of Severus’ mind, discarded immediately. He relaxed again in Potter's embrace.

Lips grazed at his ear, nose nuzzling into his hair. Severus had identified a hint of jasmine when the younger man chattered again. 

“Are you going to stay? In the house, I mean. And I could arrange a new identity for you, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

Business talk. 

Severus pressed his hands to Potter’s chest and push himself up. Gingerly sitting on the sofa, he slid his feet to the floor and stood, camouflaging a wince from age and more traffic rumpward than he had grown accustomed to.

Potter still had his flaccid cock hanging out of his undone fly, the swatch of naked flesh — crowned with a black mop as messy as the one on his head — lying in sharp contrast to the rest of him that was fully clothed.

Humid stains spotted the front of his grey jumper at abdomen level, courtesy of Severus.

Severus turned away, retrieved his shirt on the floor and dressed wordlessly. Buying himself time to see where things were going to go.

But Potter didn’t speak further. 

When the last button on his jacket’s sleeve was done, Potter had straightened his clothes too: seated in the chesterfield with Severus’ longcoat folded across his lap. 

He went to recover it, and Potter caught his wrist, pulling him in to stand closer.

“I’m free on Monday, Wednesday and Thursday nights. How about you?” asked Potter, as he reached his hand behind Severus’ left thigh.

Potter was looking hesitant again as he glanced up from behind his glasses and searched Severus’ face — though the palm curved behind the back of Severus’ legs was firm.

Weekdays. The schedule of a married man. 

“Tell me Potter,” said Severus, “what would Black say if he knew you are using his inheritance as a den for your deviant trysts?” 

At the mention of his mangy cur godfather, Potter blushed. A full blush that reddened ears and neck, as well as the fine skin below the eyes. 

He hadn't lost his touch after all.

“There is nothing wrong with what we did,” said Potter a little hotly, before cocking his head to the side and adding, “The house is yours. I have another place in London, where we could meet... If you’d prefer that…?” 

Putting on a show of how deep the pockets went. Crude.

Severus came to a decision.

“Here. Mondays and Thursdays.”

Potter exhaled and bit at his bottom lip again, a curious expression that may have been a disguised smile of triumph on his face. He stood up, their eyes level — reminding Severus of his own age — and drew the longcoat over Severus’ shoulders before encircling Severus’ waist within his arms. 

The kiss was lazy and sated. It tasted a little better than Severus would have liked.

“You can do whatever you want, of course,” Potter whispered against his ear when he detached their mouths, “It’s your place. But it’d really make it easier on me if you’d keep to legal stuff. Less risky for you, too. If you need money, I can look after you…” 

Restrictions on his liberties. Presented as concern, coupled with the lure of cold hard cash, but restrictions nonetheless. Soon the polite requests will morph into “can” and “can’t do’s”, “won’t” and “wills”, “mustn’t” and, yes, “musts”. Severus knew the drill. 

“You can keep the house. I don’t need your charity,” replied he, curtly. He made to disentangle himself. 

Potter clung to him, peered into his eyes and spoke with aplomb.

“It’s not charity, I told you. It has nothing to do with it. I want you to have the house. You saved me, saved us,” said he defiantly, before pausing. “And… And I’m separated from Ginny. Though we’re staying married until the kids graduate Hogwarts. You may want to know. I like to be upfront.”

Trite, as far as self-justifications and adulterer’s deceits went.

“I don’t need to know that,” replied Severus evenly, while holding the green gaze.

“What if I wanted you to know?” barged on Potter.

“Potter, what possibly could have given you the impression I cared?” asked Severus.

Potter’s eyes widened as if hurt. 

Overdone. Way overdone. The game was on.

Severus didn’t bother with Legilimency — Potter could defend from it when he wanted to, anyway.

Before the younger man could babble more insulting lies, as he was about to judging by the spluttering lips, Severus slid his wand from his sleeve into his hand.

The silk choker came to levitate in midair. Between his and Potter’s face. 

Severus glared.

Potter blinked. 

Green eyes were drawn to the golden loop and strayed there for a long moment, their expression unreadable.

Something had hardened in Potter’s features when he let go of Severus’ waist to pick the collar up from where it hovered.

Slowly, the younger wizard undid the clasp on the black ribbon. 

Severus stretched out his neck when, while avoiding to look him in the eyes, Potter drew aside his hair to undo the top button of his shirt, before slipping the slithery material beneath.

When he was done fastening it, Potter stared with his arms hanging to his sides at where the collar was secured around Severus' throat.

He was still staring when Severus shrugged on his longcoat and left.


End file.
